


Wallowing, Wading, Whispering, Wanting

by FangBanger



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 12:06:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FangBanger/pseuds/FangBanger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sight and sound are a powerful trigger to a mind already laden with layers of guilt he can never express. Twenty four hours can change two lives, fix two hearts, and set them to burn like they've never burned before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wallowing

Title: Wallowing, Wading, Whispering, Wanting.

Part One of Four: Wallowing

Author: Roguie/ SunSpecOps/ FangBanger (Yes, I have MPD, shush)

Fandom: The Vampire Diaries

Characters: Damon Salvatore, Elena Gilbert, Damon/ Elena

Rating: M – violence, torture, A- class coarse language, and if you're very good, a little dash of smut to wrap it all up.

Spoilers: Everything up to 4x18 – AU at 4x19.

Disclaimer: The Vampire Diaries doesn't belong to me. I just like to borrow the characters and mutate their inner voices. What can I say, it's fun. Please don't sue, my house is small, my car is useless and my dogs are pains in the arse, but they're all I have.

Summary: Sight and sound is a powerful trigger to a mind already laden with layers of guilt he can never express. Twenty four hours can change two lives, fix two hearts, and set them to burn like they've never burned before.

 

~~~Wallowing~~~

Damon Salvatore was no child. A century and a half on Earth had taught him many things from propriety to cruelness, and thanks to a pair of chocolate brown eyes, he was no stranger to heartbreak.

On a normal night, he'd have laughed off her rejection, whatever, right? It's not like those eyes, that face, that voice had never shattered him before. Mortal, immortal, in lust or in love, he'd moved on more times than he cared to count.

Oh, he could wallow with the best of them at the bottom of a bottle of whiskey a hundred years younger than him, in a bar, more recently in a graveyard, wherever he felt the need to smother the side of him that ached without apology. Hell, he could give his own damned brother pointers on brooding if he'd ever take the time to sit down and think about it.

He usually just wasn't stupid enough to think.

Her cruel words rang through his mind, entwining with the burned in image of her dancing with the great Saint Stefan. Together, they waged war over the shattered pieces of his heart. It was his own fault, he supposed, falling in love with a Petrova doppelganger not once, but twice in his miserable existence. Nothing good ever came from repeating one's worst mistakes.

His exit from the dance went largely unnoticed by the woman in question, her arms firmly wrapped around his brother, the only betrayal he could imagine that could honestly sever the bond between them. He couldn't deny the pain, but focussing on it before he'd spent every cent he had on him on unending bottles of hard liquor meant he had to feel it.

He never should have believed her, it was too good to be true. In all his life, no one had ever chosen him over Stefan. He was always second best to the boy that could do no wrong. So soft, so loving, so pure, so fucking insane that people would fall to pieces at his feet and so fucking repentant they'd forgive him as they died. Not Damon, the monster who frightened them, who laughed as they cried, who left them in a daze of fog as they walked away from him, but goddamn it, at least they walked away. It became so easy for people to assume he was heartless, soulless, and incapable of humanity because he didn't openly drown himself in guilt while feeding. Most humans don't cry over the animals they slaughter to consume, why the hell should he shed a tear over a little terror when most of his meals wake up the next day, none the worse for wear? Who was the monster in this equation when you really stop to think about it?

Still, when she'd started leaning towards him, he should have forced a good scare into her, sent the little doppelganger packing, let Saint Stefan be the knight in shining fucking armor and got the hell outta dodge. The shame of it was that he couldn't. Stefan kept slipping, the supernatural kept coming, and Elena fucking Gilbert kept dying.

His heart wrenched painfully as his thoughts turned to the times he'd nearly lost her, and he cursed softly under his breath as he considered burning Wickery Bridge to ash for the pain it had caused in their lives. Three times she'd nearly died there, and once she had.

He snorted softly, making his way through the graveyard, a bottle in each hand as he sat in the dirt, his back to his best friend's tombstone.

"Go on, just say it," he muttered to the empty space around him. "I fucked up. I fucked up and now we don't even have baby Gilbert here for you to tell me as much."

Fuck it hurt, sitting there, the dead talking to the dead, having left his girl in his psychotic brother's arms, but he knew worse pain than this, that was for sure.

Weeks had passed since the accident, time enough for humans to move on, but Damon? Damon felt as if it had only just happened. Watching Alaric desiccate in his arms, the intrinsic knowledge that his best friend's life depended on the life of the thing he loved most in the world, that was the worst pain he'd ever stumbled upon. So much worse than anything his life of torturers had ever bestowed upon him. So much worse than a broken heart.

Even now he wanted to throw back his head and howl like a wounded wolf, the pain was so visceral. He couldn't forget the slow clutching of his wounded heart, how the sickening feeling of ice began in his brain, spreading its razor tendrils through his thickened blood stream, freezing his traitorous organs as the most powerful of them threatened to shatter, the shrapnel enough to shred him from the inside out as a single solitary thought slammed home.

Elena was dead.

There was no doubt in his mind as his numb fingers held Ric while he fought against everything he was to not flip the switch that sat there, taunting him with its promise of peace.

He gathered his best friend with as much care as he was capable, ignoring the absolute terror that brought bloody bile to his lips, and together they returned to Mystic Falls to face truths that Damon was sure he should have stopped, could have stopped, would have stopped because fuck what Elena wanted. He would have never let her die in that piss poor excuse for a lake that constantly tried to rip her from his existence.

Damon sighed, taking a deep swig from his bottle, calming the rage that threatened to overwhelm him.

"Should have been me, Ric," he mumbled, quietly, leaning back and resting a hand over his eyes, shading them from the light of the moon. "I shouldn't have left her. I never should have left her."

The bad always happened when he was off doing something good, something, anything to make her turn those chocolate brown eyes on him, her lips curve up, that calmness that would overtake her entire body that bled belief that this was the Damon she could see herself falling for, the guy who, no matter what, always fucking tried. For her.

He had to go and try to save Barbie and her mutt. Honestly, what possessed him to do something so incredibly stupid? Nearly got him killed, and did get Elena killed, however briefly. Anyway he looked at it, Elena and the kid lost two more parents, while he accomplished nothing but a different kind of heartbreak.

Don't get him started on the next Scooby Doo adventure catastrophe. He kept leaving her and she kept stepping into shit she had no business being all up inside, and all it fucking got them was her body on a metal slab in a morgue with too many people touching her, crying over her, looking at her than she could have handled.

When she'd opened those pretty eyes of hers it should have been the absolute greatest moment of Damon's entire existence. Instead? Instead he wanted to rip the throat from his brother's neck. While everyone insisted she hate what she'd become, while everyone insisted that she eat Bambi and never even look at a human being, while everyone fucking insisted that she live in a world of guilt and regret, it was Damon that kept her sane. Damon taught her to have fun, to enjoy the hunt, to relish the control that no one thought she could handle. It was always Damon that put the pieces of Elena back together, that kept her together when no one else could get past her shell.

Of course it couldn't possibly be true, her feelings for him. Of course she couldn't possibly love him, her personal guardian of the night. Not even when she writhed beneath him, bodies drenched in sweat, locked together, her breath coming in harsh gasps, his name echoing off his bedroom walls when she screamed, not even then could it be real.

Fucking Elena. Fucking sire bond. Fucking Stefan and his high and mighty attitude, forcing his hand, making him understand that he could never touch her again, not the way he wanted, not the way he needed. Not that she was making it at all easy on him, her eyes turning to liquid heat every time she stepped within ten feet of him, red lips whispering I love you when he had no defenses left to withstand. Every breath he took burned for her, every beat of his heart sounded for her, every whisper that passed his lips screamed for her, and he knew the moment Silas ripped the life from Jeremy that he couldn't face her. He was a fucking coward and used Bonnie as an excuse to not be there when Elena finally snapped. He even failed at that. The second she saw him, she broke, shattered, heart and soul imploding in a cloud of grief so dense that it engulfed Damon in its venomous flames.

He did the only thing he could as she screamed in his arms, her sobs dissecting him from the inside out as sure as a razor could part folds of flesh. Okay, yeah, so it was a mistake. A huge mistake. A mistake of epic fucking proportion, but it was all he could offer to give her peace. If he went his entire life without ever knowing the brush of her warm lips against his again, he'd burn in the sun knowing that even in his failure, he saved her some semblance of pain.

The bottle emptied down his throat and he climbed to his feet, wobbling slightly as he placed the second bottle on Alaric's grave.

"Cheers, buddy," he mumbled softly, before stumbling quietly down the dark path, heading back to the road.

This was way too much introspection for one night. If he stuck around any longer, he was at risk of the spirits mistaking him for Stefan and with the amount of blood on that boy's hands, he figured it was safer being himself.

Time to find a little distraction.

~~~TBC~~~


	2. Wading

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sight and sound are a powerful trigger to a mind already laden with layers of guilt he can never express. Twenty four hours can change two lives, fix two hearts, and set them to burn like they've never burned before.

~~~Wading~~~

As luck would have it, distraction came to Damon in the form of soft blonde hair, big blue eyes, and a smile that he didn't doubt had melted a lot of hearts in her life.

Her car was stalled at the side of the deserted road, her phone was dead in her hands, and tears were clouding her baby blues as Damon made his approach. His face was schooled into an innocent smile, blue eyes sparkling, head cocked to the side, curiously.

"Now that looks like you're having a very unfortunate night," he drawled softly, careful not to startle her.

The girl smiled amiably in his direction, giving her car a rueful glare, the ease of his approach relaxing her immediately. As expected, she droned on for ten minutes about her boyfriend, her car, her phone, and her life while he maintained his polite smile, trying desperately not to roll his eyes skyward. Finally, she paused, glancing at him with sudden suspicion.

"Um, why are you out here anyway? It's like, three in the morning."

Damon nodded in the direction of the graveyard, shrugging softly. "Visiting an old friend." He lowered his lashes, blue eyes radiating sadness and fragility, just enough to force the girl to lower her gaze in shame.

"So, do you think you could call someone to give me a tow, or something?"

Damon's eyes darkened as he stepped into her space, his gaze catching hers, holding it in a grip she had no chance to understand.

"Listen, Casey," her name dripped from his lips with hypnotic ease. "I've had a really rough few days and I'm a little out of character, tonight. Normally, I'd help myself to a good portion of your blood and leave you here for some good Samaritan to come along and you wouldn't remember a thing, but the thing is, I'm really not feeling that right now. I just practically handed my girl to my brother and my best friend isn't around to point out the moral high road in this situation." He shrugged softly and lifted a finger to the girl's throat, dragging soft skin down her most vulnerable flesh, smiling with satisfaction as a powerful shiver coursed down her spine. "As such, I'd really like it if you'd come home with me. I'm hungry, hard and miserable, but that kind of turns you on, doesn't it?"

"Turns me on," she repeated obediently, already slipping her hand into his free one.

"Good girl," he murmured appreciatively, turning in the direction of the boarding house and beginning the short walk home.

~~~E~~~

Godddamn fucking Elena fucking Gilbert!

The curse was more a prayer on his soft lips as he lay on his bed, a hand over his eyes, his shirt on the floor, the now naked blonde on her knees, blood trickling down between her generous breasts, wearing the most confused look he'd assumed her pretty little lips had known outside of school.

He cracked open one eye, sighed deeply and caught her gaze. "Get dressed and go back to your car. A tow truck will be there for you soon. None of this happened. All you'll remember is waiting in your car for hours until a passing motorist called for help." He frowned as she didn't move, opening the other eye and raising an eyebrow with expectation. "Hello? That means now."

He couldn't be bothered watching as she retrieved her clothing from various corners of his bedroom. If he were human it would mortify him, his desperate inability to claim the blonde in any way beyond a slow meal. There was a time in his life that he'd have had her screaming for him within minutes of passing over his threshold, before feeding, after feeding, while feeding. Whatever. Stamina had never been an issue. Wasn't an issue.

It's just the strands of hair that filtered through his fingers weren't the colour of the softest walnut bark. The hooded eyes that met his gaze weren't a liquid chocolate abyss. The skin beneath his fingers was too pale, too warm. Everything about Casey was too not Elena. His heart didn't want her. His mind didn't want her. His body wanted her less even than the other two combined. The only one he wanted between his sheets was probably between his brother's right now, and that thought just angered him further.

Note to self: Next time get a brunette.

After a few bottles, it'd be easier to pretend.

He was out of bed and whipping the top off an antique decanter, letting the aged glass shatter against one dark wall as he drank deeply from the stem. He tortured himself, turning his sensitive hearing to the house, listening for the tell-tale gasps and cries that he now knew better than the sound of his own voice. He took no pleasure in the silence that met his intentional eavesdropping; absolute silence meant not even Stefan had returned from the dance, they could be off in a tryst with the original sister for all Damon could tell. The silence spoke volumes for itself, and his imagination was left to run wild.

Damon found himself steeling his runaway emotions against the rise of the sun, expecting much the same conversation with the mediocrely happy couple that he had avoided having only a few weeks prior. Stefan would tell him immediately, pretending he didn't enjoy eviscerating his brother, but that all knowing smirk would scream I told you so behind his painfully gentle words.

They could have each other, he decided suddenly. Fucked if he was going to stick around this time, watch their perfect little world form and shatter, waiting in the shadows for the crumbs Stefan would leave in his wake.

Damon finished the nearly full decanter, swallowing the liquid fire with grace before allowing the glass to join its counterpart in shards on the floor. Rage he could run from; once he was fangs deep in exotic flesh the hot rage would melt into a slow burn with which he could live. The betrayal? Hell, that'd pass too. In a century or so, he and Stefan would be able to converse once more. There wasn't anything the passing of an era couldn't heal. His heart, though? The loss? That would take more time than even he had on Earth. Before she'd come to him, he knew he loved her deeper than anything he'd ever felt in his very long existence, but that one night in her arms? To hear her say she loved him? That destroyed him completely. He was undeniably her slave, taking his place at her feet without a fight. If he didn't leave now, he knew he never would. He'd spend the next five hundred years watching from the sidelines, aching for what he could never have again.

When the alcohol finally hit his brain, just as the sun began to rise on the horizon, Damon found himself staring out into the growing light with impaired vision. The room began to swim violently and he turned away, flopping back onto his bed, one hand over his eyes, the other covering his ears from the sudden invasion of Elena's voice in his mind.

It was an echo of time gone, he supposed, her voice crying to him in the dawn of the day, screaming his name over and over until he clasped his hands over his ears, hiding from the sound.

It tortured him to know that the voice screaming for him wasn't one of ecstasy, but Elena's cry of agony and sheer terror, a sound he could never forgive himself for knowing intimately. As the sun rose to burn hot in the sky, not even the echo of his own voice crying out in misery could silence the horror his mind had conjured.

~~~TBC~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today we have Drunk!Miserable!Damon. Poor boy. Many thanks for the reviews and follows, does lovely things to a girl's heart. Our poor boy is about to get quite the kick in the head, so I figured I'd allow him one last night of wading through all the emotional crap he's facing. Hopefully he's on his game before the sun rises too high in the sky… but we'll have to see. :)


	3. Whispering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sight and sound are a powerful trigger to a mind already laden with layers of guilt he can never express. Twenty four hours can change two lives, fix two hearts, and set them to burn like they've never burned before.

~~~Whispering~~~

He began to question his own sanity when the quiet echo of Elena's tortured screams refused to fade long into the morning. He found that if he turned up the volume on his stereo, the desperate sounds muffled slightly, but never actually disappeared. They lived in the back of his mind, easing and growing sharper in waves of agony.

At noon he gave up the fight trying to sleep and moved down to the kitchen, opening a blood bag and pouring it into a mug as he moved nearly silently through the familiar surroundings. He snorted softly as he came across his phone, dropped somewhere between the door and the stairwell as he and Casey had made their frantic entrance at some point deep in the night. He scowled at it silently, a reminder of his failure to keep up the charade of not caring, before picking it up and glancing at the screen.

Eleven text messages and four voicemails. How is it even possible that in the eight hours he'd not had his phone on his person that the world imploded and everyone and their uncle required his presence?

Must have been a damned good prom.

He settled back onto his sofa, sipping his blood as he sifted through the messages, silently. The first was from Rebekah, bitching that Elena hadn't met her after the dance and left her to walk back to the home they temporarily shared, alone. The second was from Bonnie demanding to know if he'd seen either Stefan or Elena.

Damon's heart plunged as the series of text messages gave life to his darkest imaginings. Of course Elena left the dance with Stefan. Of course no one knew where they were. They were probably curled up in the forest somewhere, naked bodies stained in blood, sweat, dirt, and sleeping off a night of feeding and debauchery.

It was the last text message that set his heart stuttering in sudden terror. It came from Stefan, only four hours prior as the sun rose high in the sky. It said simply, Forgive me.

Damon twitched, swallowing thickly before typing back slowly. "Forgive you what, brother?"

"It's Lexi's way. It will work. Trust me. Forgive me."

"What did you do, Stef?"

"What I had to."

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The word became a prayer in his mind as he slammed through his front door and out into the blinding daylight. It was a beautiful day, hardly a cloud in the sky, and as summer quickly approached again, the heat from the sun was almost astounding. The beauty, however, couldn't stop the moment from shattering around him; as soon as he passed beyond the privacy of the boarding house walls, Elena's agonized voice crystalized, there was nothing left to protect him from the shattered screams that sent birds flocking for the safety of the clear blue skies above.

His heart belonged to her. His soul belonged to her. Every fundamental atom that made up the fabric of his being belonged to her, and as she screamed with the agony and horror of whatever Stefan was doing to her, each of those atoms tore apart and dropped him to his knees, howling as he covered his ears.

He forced it all back, concentrating on her voice as the moment of weakness passed, and he was on his feet in a blur, running into the forest at top speed towards the terrified cries of his heart. When he found the tiny shack moments later, he paused, confused. The small wooden building couldn't have been more than six foot by four, just a room in the woods, maybe a hunter's shack from the fifties, nothing at all important to their daily lives so he'd never even noticed it on the property before then. The first thing that struck him were the holes that punched through the weathered wood. Standing back, the sun shone through the empty spots like the wood was made of a soft Swiss cheese, the light cutting through the forest in thin rays that seemed beautiful in their harmlessness. The second thing to strike him was the sound of laboured breathing coming from inside, first a soft whimper, then a sharp cry, then as the sun shifted and more light filtered down onto the shack, the screaming began anew.

He was to the door before his brain even registered moving, hands closing around the wooden handle, ripping it from its hinges before realizing the wood had been soaked in vervain. He glanced for only a moment at his hand, the flesh from his fingers burning and flaying back from bone in instant agony. He barely paused to acknowledge the pain as he crossed the threshold into the trap very carefully laid by his brother.

He found her crouched in the darkest corner of the single room, beams of sunlight breaking across her blistered skin, wrenching another cry from her cracked lips. His own skin burned and blistered as the room filled with vervain mist and he cursed under his breath. Fucking Stefan. He thought of everything.

Her dark eyes met his, glowing faintly with desperation as she reached out to him, hissing as the sun cut across her fingers. "Please, Damon," she whispered softly, her voice laced with pain he could only begin to understand. "Help me."

Shit. Shit. Shit. He didn't think before he left the boarding house, he had nothing with which to cover her sensitive skin. She needed him and once again he came up useless.

"Shh, baby, I'm here. I'll get you out of this."

The vervain mist sprayed again, forcing them both to recoil sharply. "Tuck your legs up under your skirt; cover as much skin as you can." As he was speaking, Damon pulled his own shirt from his body, moving across the venom filled room to cover her face and arms. "Gonna need a little trust here, Gilbert, and a lot of luck, so no snacking while we run."

He pulled her into his arms, tucking loose ends of clothing around her tightly before stepping out into the sun, setting direction and running with every ounce of power in his body not left drained by the copious amounts of vervain Stefan had pumped into the little cabin of death that they were leaving behind.

He cursed Stefan with every step; he had to blink back tears as her arm jostled loose and her skin fried like a cracked egg on hot pavement, but he couldn't stop to cover her or she'd burn entirely. He forced even more out of his strained muscles, smashing through his front door with his shoulder, not stopping until Elena was safe in the darkness of his formal room. Only then did he allow himself a deep breath, only then did he sink to his knees in shock and horror, Elena's prone form tumbling from his fingers to rest gently on his carpeted floor.

"My brother," he panted softly, shaking his head to free his hair of any remaining vervain, "Is a dead man."

A wry chirp of laughter rose from the heap on the floor as still blistered fingers began peeling back layers of fine silk and cloth from ruined skin. "Tell me something not everyone in town already knows."

"Whoa," he chuckled, without any true humor, bending to help free her from the ruined material, "A joke from the world's most narcissistic ice bitch?" His brother's words from a year before rang through his mind, and his lips twitched softly. "Careful, Elena, your humanity is showing."

She whimpered softly as she took in the sight of her ruined arm, dark eyes flashing ill and horror. "So's my femur! Please tell me you've got something for me to eat?"

He moved through the house, grabbing a few pints of blood for her and one for himself. "Living with Barbie Klaus, I'd assume you've grown used to having donors at your beck and compel." He grinned down at her, his blue eyes carefully schooled not to show the overwhelming worry that threatened to swallow him whole as the flesh on her arm continued to smoke softly, rather than trying to heal. "You're gonna have to slum it a bit around here, though." He smirked. "We're not that fancy."

"Just give me the bag, Damon."

He heard it then, in her voice, the sadness, the weariness, the absolute acceptance of what had happened. He also heard the threat of tears as she struggled to not let them break her tone. His traitorous heart skipped a beat with hope as he knelt before her, bag in hand.

"'Lena?"

She ignored him completely as she snatched the bag from his fingers and drank deeply; two bags gone before her skin began to knit itself back together, painfully, wringing yet another whimpering groan from her soft lips.

It was risky, this unrestrained hope that threatened to smother him. His fingers shook, his chest trembled with unsteady breath. Her skin healed before his eyes, the unblemished, olive expanse filling out, healthy and rosy as strength returned to her every aspect. When she looked up, however, when the depths of her eyes met his, the abyss between them instantly melted away as her gaze reflected shame, uncertainty and overwhelming grief, none of which had been there when he'd left her with his brother only hours before. Tears flew unbidden to Damon's eyes, threatening his masculinity before he could force himself to react and look away.

His own gaze held uncertainty and trepidation as he waited for her to react to the onslaught of emotion that came with a forced switch flip. He expected tears, self-loathing, anger, terror, horror. Hell, he half expected her to lash out against him for making her change. Instead, she opened her arms, her silence a simple invitation for him to share her grief, quietened by time passed, but never lessened.

He held her through the afternoon, letting her cry against him, soothing her with only his presence. Words would come later. For now, the two of them were all that mattered.

It was easier than he thought, to let it all go, to forget his anger, his hurt and just be there for her while she came back to herself. He poured her a hot bath and settled her into it, letting the clean water wash away the dried vervain from her skin, letting it soak away the dried blood from already healed wounds, letting it relax her until her eyes closed and her breathing evened. He took no advantage as he lifted her from the tub and wrapped a soft towel around her new, glowing skin, carrying her to his bed, settling her in amongst the blankets and pillows. She'd not slept in at least a day and a half, she'd been tortured for hours, she was left without hope, without mercy so when she didn't move a single muscle through the entire process, Damon merely lay down beside her, pressing his lips to her bare shoulder, burying his face in her damp hair.

Words were just words, he could forgive her for each and every one that passed through her lips. Deaths were just deaths, no vampire had a clean record, and he'd not hold the small list she'd accumulated against her. Friends would come around, regrets would be pushed away, forgiveness would be given with only a tiny bit of prejudice, and she'd carry on. He'd take her to Jeremy's grave, she'd mourn and he'd wait for her. He'd dig up Stefan and offer him to her on a platter; she'd weep and thank him for having the strength that Damon himself didn't. They'd discuss the sire bond, and she'd insist she loved him while couldn't bring himself to truly believe it. Tomorrow wasn't going to be easy in the least, but for tonight, she was just Elena, in his arms, where she belonged; who she'd be when her pretty eyes opened he couldn't be certain, but at least he'd be there, waiting. Whatever happened from that point forward, Damon had a feeling he deserved every, single moment. Good or bad.

Indecision and uncertainty had threatened to destroy him. He'd taken from that and learned, with painful resistance, but he'd learned. One way or another, they'd find their way and they would survive.

All he could hope for now was more than mere survival. While she slept, nose wrinkled, whispering moans giving voice to her darkest memories, he prayed. Maybe he didn't believe in it all, but for one night, it certainly couldn't hurt.

God, he needed a drink.

~~~TBC~~~


	4. Wanting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sight and sound are a powerful trigger to a mind already laden with layers of guilt he can never express. Twenty four hours can change two lives, fix two hearts, and set them to burn like they've never burned before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, okay, so I missed my target by a week, but it was a long week, folks, a very, very very long week. We shall not discuss how drunk I spent last Tuesday night trying to forget the absolute horror that was my professional life. So… do I have anything relevant to say about this final chapter of my very first real attempt at writing The Vampire Diaries? Nope. Let there be smut. :) Warning… Sexy!Damon ahead. :)

~~~Wanting~~~

It had long since fallen dark when Damon opened his eyes from the sleep he never even recognized falling into. He quickly adjusted to the inky blackness of the room, his fingers immediately reaching out for the other source of heat stretched out upon his mattress.

Elena's lips issued no complaint as he gently pulled her against his body, her eyelids barely fluttering as his lips found the silky smooth skin of her shoulder, his warm breath a sigh as he tightened his hold. The towel he'd wrapped around her before laying down had long since abandoned her in her sleep. As such, it was pure, soft, warm flesh that met Damon's fingertips as he splayed them out over her stomach. Muscles twitched gently under his touch and the soft flesh of his lips curved into a smile against her shoulder.

"Missed you," he whispered, his voice cracking with the agony of their weeks spent apart, knowing she was still too deep under to hear him. They were words he had to say, laying out his hurt and confusion, but this way she'd never have to bear the guilt that would come with the knowledge of his pain. She had enough to regret without his own darkness hovering over her. At the very least, he could give her this.

"Damon."

His ears perked forward and his fingers paused in the middle of drawing a languid circle on her warm flesh. It was barely a whisper, almost the ghost of a moan, but it was his name that spilled from her lips and the remaining tension bled from his body as he watched, motionlessly, for her body to catch up with her subconscious.

It truly amazed him, the stages her body went through as she slowly pulled away from sleep. First, a small frown appeared on her lips, a bit stubborn, a little pouty. Second, her nose wrinkled delicately, scrunching up just before lifting a hand to cover her still closed eyes. Third, her tongue peeked out from between her lips, full and red, an unconscious tease that left him suddenly hard and wanting against the gentle curve of her back. Finally, her knees uncurled, her body stretching out languidly against his, warm skin and muscle brushing against his now straining cock.

He bit his lip to smother the harsh curse that threatened to escape his throat, hard enough to draw blood, the inescapable scent of copper and iron filling the air, filling her senses, and finally she opened her eyes. She turned to face him immediately, all remnants of sleep cast from her body as she breathed him in deeply, tongue now purposely darting out to wet her full lips.

Damon couldn't control the shudder that passed through him, his hands immediately tightening on her smaller frame, pulling her firmly against his oversensitive body as her eyes turned black and the intricate webbing of dark veins began to spider over her features.

"Morning, beautiful," he managed to whisper before he found himself on his back, his arms held above his head, his own features darkening as lips met lips, fangs met fangs, and tongue met tongue, swallowing quickly any further words that tried to be said.

There wasn't an ounce of will in his body capable of offering any resistance to her onslaught. His lip was sucked clean of blood; the wound closed and was reopened immediately by her greedy fangs. The third time, she let it close, her features paling back to those of the little human that had captured his soul the very moment they met on a dark road in the middle of nowhere. Her eyes sparkled with sudden fire, and his dick pulsed and surged harder still; her lithe body straddled his in such a way that the wet, sucking heat of her core covered his length, bringing an impatient moan to both their lips as the need for friction increased to nearly desperate levels, each moment of contact nothing more than a cruel tease of what they craved so desperately.

When she freed his lips from their willing prison, when her fingers loosened their hold on his wrists, she rocked back against him to answer her body's hunger for friction. Damon freed his hands, fingers instantly moving to her hips, nails cutting into flesh as he locked her to him.

"'Lena," he groaned desperately, heart surging in time with his body as he swiftly rolled her beneath him. "'Lena, fuck. My Elena."

He couldn't name the emotion responsible for the crack in his voice, for his inability to speak anything beyond her name, but it was powerful, overwhelming, and before sudden tears could fill his eyes, he buried his face in her neck, pulling soft flesh between his lips and teeth, sucking and biting hard enough to leave a momentary mark and wrench a cry from her lips. With one hand still pinning her to the mattress by a single hip, he slid down her arching body, his free hand finding a breast, a finger brushing across a pebbled nipple for only a brief second before his mouth found the hardened bud. Then, not even his great strength could keep her pinned to the bed as sharp fangs pierced her flesh, twin trails of blood filling his mouth, painting her skin, staining his sheets before the wounds closed and his warm tongue appeared to lick her achingly clean.

He was flipped and she was atop him before he could trail lower; the scent of her maddening arousal filled every sense he possessed and he had only enough time to dig strong fingers into the flesh of her ass before she lowered herself onto him, dripping, aching folds of heat opening to receive his painfully hard, weeping cock into her body, her throat voicing his slow penetration with a gratified moan.

Damon was lost as she rode him, slowly, cradled deep inside her pulsing walls, swelling impossibly larger with each stroke of her body down his length. With firm fingers he pulled her down and held her on his body, buried so deep he could feel where she ended, and he slid his back up against his headboard, bringing his knees up behind her, cradling her completely as he found her lips and gave himself over to pure sensation.

Their frenzied pace slowed to a gentle rhythm, his hands in her hair, holding her lips against his until her nails scraped down his chest, opening torturously slow paths of rent flesh. His head fell backwards, slamming into the headboard with force enough to crack the thick slab of wood a mere second before her lips found his throat and her fangs his blood.

Had it only been weeks since their one moment together? He was sure they'd been apart a fucking eternity.

He slammed home inside of her in all ways possible, throbbing cock, piercing fangs, flowing blood; his heart and soul were her own to salvage or destroy on a whim. When she tightened around him, a dripping vice of heated flesh, fangs ripping from his skin to throw back her head and scream his name into the night, light brighter and hotter than the sun filled his mind, blinding him to anything but the girl clenched around him, milking the very essence of his being from his body as surely as her contracting walls milked his softening dick of all it could provide.

When the moment eased, their bodies coming down from the heights they'd reached, Elena leaned forward silently, burying her face in his neck, trembling softly in his arms.

"'Lena…" he murmured softly into her hair, a million topics needing discussion, floating around them, threatening to burst their quiet bubble of sexual bliss.

"No," she shook her head quickly, leaning back to capture his gaze, her chocolate eyes pleading with him to listen. "In the morning, okay? Please, Damon?"

And fucked if he could deny her a single thing.

He nodded quickly, tucking her back against his powerful body, wishing he could chase away her demons with the mere embrace of his arms.

"Just one thing," he whispered into the darkness, softly stroking her back with gentle fingers.

"Hmm?" she murmured, already half back to sleep, curled tightly against his hard frame.

"I love you, Elena."

He felt her smile against his neck, and small lips pressed to his skin in acknowledgement.

"Love you, Damon."

As her eyes closed, his heart soared. There was no sire bond, no danger of one of them dying, absolutely nothing to force those words from her lips this time, and yet, there they were, dancing between them like his very life didn't hinge on ever hearing them again.

It took everything he had to not wake her back up and demand she say it again, over and over until his slow beating heart could truly believe that those words were for him.

He wanted to shout it from tree tops and tall buildings, bridges and helicopters. He wanted to sky write it for the entire town to read and know that Elena Gilbert loved him. No one and nothing had forced her hand.

Instead he lay silently beneath her, one hand behind his head, one hand against her back, vowing silently to never let her go.

He didn't like himself very much without her by his side. With her he was something completely different than even he could explain. He'd tried to put it to words once, that everything about her begged him to do good things, to be a good person, and as hard as he fought, as loud as he protested, in the end, he saved Barbie and her mutt, he didn't let Judgy's fairy-witch-mother die… completely, he fought to save Ric, fought to save Klaus, fought to save the kid, put his own feelings aside for his brother's and fought to keep them all together at a cost they couldn't begin to understand.

However long this lasted, be it days, weeks, months, years, decades, centuries, or eternities, as long as every night she lay her head against his heart, the beast he had been would sleep peacefully through time. He sighed with a soft sense of resignation, even while something entirely different built in his heart.

"Normal people of Mystic Falls, you are safe tonight," he murmured wryly, and only to himself. He'd never admit out loud that a tiny little girl from a tiny little town, with big brown eyes, long brown hair, and the biggest heart he'd ever seen, had tamed him. Big bad vampire brought to his knees for the love of a human. He was well aware of his status as a cosmic joke, a supernatural fucking embarrassment, but in the end, here in her arms, he was only human.

~~Fin~~

**Author's Note:**

> I promise, Angry!Damon is only a part of this fiction… okay, two parts of this fiction. Either way, all four parts are not his drunken ass wallowing in self-pity. Stick with me because it's all scripted out, and my heart only beats for Damon/ Elena. Don't let my muse fool you into thinking otherwise.


End file.
